t on a journey very suddenly, and it was
uncertain when she would return.

Mohr nodded and acted as if the news had no special interest for him.
Nevertheless he entered the shop, where Madame Feyertag was standing,
under the pretext of inquiring for Reginchen's health. She was getting
better, her mother said; it was only affectation, the whimsical child
seemed to think it a joke to fold her hands in her lap and let herself
be nursed. Then the conversation turned upon the music teacher, and her
note was shown. It was written in pencil, evidently in great agitation,
but afforded no farther clue.

Herr Feyertag also came in. He was very much depressed and his
Schopenhauer wisdom seemed to have left him entirely in the lurch, for
his whole heart was bound up in Reginchen, and this was the first time
the child had caused him the slightest anxiety. He did not speak very
kindly of Christiane, for whom he had always expressed the highest
esteem. He would never let an interesting woman lodge in his house
again. That had hitherto been his maxim, for women must above all
things be women, and the strong minded ones, who lived alone, played on
the piano, and were taken up with the sorrows of the world, did not
exactly belong to the "weaker sex"--with or without moustaches--His
good wife cast a significant glance at him, and shrugging her shoulders
said "We know why you prefer weak women, Feyertag. Instead of talking
such stupid nonsense, you ought to go to the police and ask if they
know anything."

The faithful friend left the house with a still heavier heart. He told
himself many times, that all this was perfectly intelligible, that
nothing was more natural than this sudden departure, that the movements
of musicians were perfectly unaccountable, and November weather no
hindrance if the point in question were a duty toward friends and
relatives. Might not a sick friend have summoned her, or her assistance
been requested at some concert in the country? Nothing was more
probable. And yet, when he thought of her passionate outburst in the
Pagoda, her sudden disappearance--why, if all were well, should he have
this heavy heart, why should he be visited with this mysterious
anxiety, which oppressed his breath, and aroused a hundred sorrowful
ideas?

He got through the day as well as he could, found an opportunity to
question Adele, who also had not seen her friend since the excursion,
and, as it grew dark, betook himself once more